Small things matter now: the kiss, the smile,the stroking of her face, the fat tearfalling as I eat my failureto save or salve or halt the clock.I am the parent now and she the child,escaping to places where she is heldby the harsh enchantments of the past.We sit in silence, there are no more words.We are tumbled statues, our heads leant togetherby some upheaval deep within the earth.Inches from mine her eyelids flutter open,the red-raw tear ducts like woundsin the parchment skin. I whisper a welcomeand her dull eyes fill with present pain.My mother, returning from another world.